Diary Novels & Stories

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.

She asks. "Well, what is a diary? You write down shit you did in your day. I have a calendar, I don't need to write it down again" I tell her defiantly. "It's a habit that develops mostly through childhood. It can be helpful to work through your feelings" Dr. Elizabeth adds.

I grab the pen from my bag and open diary to write. 2022: Dear mom, Today I lost everything in my life. —Emma

It is old but seems to be well cared for. “Diary? Who uses a diary now? ” I whispered to myself as I hurried to open it. I was not mistaken. It was indeed a diary. Stoney isn’t a pure stone at all. He’s a softie. Funny that there were still drawings around the notebook cover back then. This is really it. I can already feel the MMK-like story of Cormac. . . the story that will win us over to AFA 2020. The first entry in that diary came to me. It was dated sixteen years ago. March 21, 2004.

So I picked it up and sat on the bed. This was one of the many habits which make me a nerd. Maybe no one maintains a diary nowadays. Everybody has become so acquainted with technology that they don't need pen and paper. but I on the other hand still tells my everyday story in my diary. May because I never had a friend to share my feelings with. So I write them down. And today I felt like meeting my notebook friend. My only best friend. dear diary, it's me again. I moved to Italy finally. I moved on finally as you know I've been trying to summon up that courage for the past year and I did it final

Sighing deeply, the young woman reached for the diary and opened to the first page, her fingers running across the brown colored paper absentmindedly. She reached out for the blue pen on the dresser, her body slightly quivering in anticipation as she silently contemplated shutting the diary like she usually did, only this time she didn’t want to do that. Only this time, she actually had a story to tell. Sighing deeply again, Natalie uncapped the pen, and for the first time ever, she wrote in the diary; Dear Diary, I met someone today.

I immediately knew that it was all Mireya's. "I will leave you to it," Adrian left me alone with the box filled with sketchbooks, drawings, diaries, and a lot of personal diaries. I took the first diary of 2008 as I stared at it. She has been writing in her diary since she was eight years old. I looked at the last diary 2022, the current year. Jan 2008 Hey Violet,

None evolves. My silence alone echo's and wriggle within the atmosphere. I inhale more air rather than exhale using words. I still believe I've got little reaction towards this freaking news. Fellow females maybe would've passed, rewake and passed again. They'll continually repeat the circle for hour's. It really seems am handling this better than expected. I roll my eyes. As though this commotion has been expected and long desired. It's only but a messed news from the queen mother.

She was feeling amazing and excited because for the very first time, Thyago finally notices and known her existence. When she got home after class, she went straight through her bedroom. Feeling happy and inspired, she decided to make a diary of her own. Not necessarily a typical diary where she'll write about her daily living, it was more like a journal where she will write down all the kept emotions and feelings she has for Thyago. She planned to chronicle all her interactions and emotions she had for Thyago. Something inside her wanted to write and savor this feeling of happiness she has for him because if not, her heart will

Let up from screwing with me. And as I did anytime I was feeling agitated, or just drained, I wrote in Ayla: my diary. My hand sought her, and when I held her in my grip I unbuttoned the latch securing her pages. Pages of my sweat, tears, joy; and pretty much my whole life. I passed my fingers over the beautifully old pages, my hand flipping through phases of my life. My fingers halted on a page. It was peppered with numerous love emoticons, XOs and exclamation marks.